


Kettering

by grimmauxillatrix



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Bodhi Rook canonically has anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauxillatrix/pseuds/grimmauxillatrix
Summary: Aboard the shuttle away from Jedha, Cassian finds himself providing awkward comfort to their rescued pilot.





	

In the dark quiet of the minimal accouterments of the cargo shuttle, Cassian can hear everyone. Its a reflex these days, identify their breathing, their location and status. K2 is keeping an eye on the controls and its a long jump to Eadu. Time for rest. 

He can hear Jyns soft breathing from where she slept in the corner, Bazes’ snores and Chirruts’ answering soft wheezes as they curl together by the loading ramp. He can hear- no he can't hear the defectors breathing, and that makes him sit up. Status. Where is he, what is he doing, he was to Cassians’ left and-

He hears a soft hiccup of a muffled sob. Carefully, shuffling his feet along the floor to navigate, Cassian approaches the sound of muffled hyperventilation and squats next to where the pilot had retreated by the bench. His direction guess is correct and he claps a hand down on the pilots shoulder. 

“What's wrong,” He asks, still gruff with distrust. He can feel the pilot shudder under his touch and hiccup again, managing to wheeze “Bor Gullit,” before sobbing again. Cassian has no idea what a Bor Gullit is and decides to risk shredding a little light on the problem.

The low red glow of his pocket light reveals tear tracks behind the pilots hands where he clutches at his face, hunched into a small ball that rocks back and forth under Cassians touch. Cassian has had to deal with panic attacks in the field before but never one so raw and naked from someone who wore an enemy uniform.

“Breathe.” he manages to say, probably sounding harsher than necessary. “In through your nose and out through your mouth. Breathe.” 

The command is met with a wet sniffle as the pilot sucks a breath in and looks at him through this damp fingers. Cassian nods and squeezes his shoulder as though he's comforting an agent afraid to break into a weapons depot, not an enemy traitor. 

“You can do this. Breathe. This is what you proved you can do. Breathe.” he repeats the mantra that has pulled his men through pitched firefights and panicked flights. Its not quite applicable to the situation but he can feel the pilot stop rocking by increments, hands lowering from his face and reflecting the light from smeared tears.

He's got large eyes and a naked, vulnerable stare, this pilot. Cassian had thought they'd all be old, disillusioned academy failures but this one was small and young and nearly dead of fear.

“Listen ah,” he wracks his brain for a name. “Bodhi, listen everything's going to be fine. We just stick to the plan and we'll all get out alive. I promise.” 

Its his usual mission spiel and it doesn't make sense but the pilot gives him a look of such hope that Cassian keeps blathering on anyway. 

“I mean you already survived that whole mess back on Jedha and defecting. You'll be fine, a little night terror is nothing hah?” 

Amazingly Bodhi nods slowly at him, seeming to come slowly back to himself. Cassian can see the awareness flood back into him and he uncurls slowly, stretching his legs out. He's long and skinny, this pilot, feet sticking out past the edge of the bench as he stretches the cramps away. Seeing his work is done, Cassian makes his move to turn away. He jumps when Bodhi grabs his sleeve. 

“Please.” he mumbles, still looking up at him with those big, big eyes. “I don't have anything, anymore. Stay.” 

Slowly, feeling out the empty space between them, the bench and the wall, Cassian sits on the cold durasteel floor. He instantly regrets not dragging his parka over to act as a cushion. 

They sit there in silence, Bodhis fingers tight on his sleeve, listening to the others breathe. Cassian begins to doze off when Bodhi leans against him, curling up to press flush along the warmth of Cassians side. His hair tickles Cassians nose and his breath winds insidiously into Cassians collar and rests like a hand on his skin. 

“I'm not nice,” he blurts out, less a warning and more a landing beacon in the dark. 

“Deep space is cold.” Bodhi tells him, surprisingly philosophical. Cassian understands, and carefully puts an arm around his shoulders.


End file.
